I Never Told You What I Do For A Living MCR
by looks-can-break
Summary: theres a story behind every song.


CHARACTERS

"Jack" Ripper Amore Miharo

for: A friend, who hates sad endings.

-

Amore stared out the window. The streets of Paris were empty. A bird twittered outside in a distant tree. Too bad im leaving tomorrow, she thought the sirens had only begun to die away. Her ghostly form shimmered, then dissapeared.  
The hotel she had booked the mont before only "happened" to go out of buisness the week before her trip.  
Stranded, she wandered the streets for ONE hotel that was not infested with something.  
The first; roaches the size of a danish the second; bed-bugs and so on.

Finally, when she had just about collapsed into the street from the weight of her suitcase, the name had appeared from posibively nowhere.  
"L'Hotel Pastis." Amore mouthed the words with utter delight.  
The hallways were dank, and dark, however, there were no roaches in sight.  
The beds were uncomfortable, and smelled positively vile, but no insects inhabited them.  
A soggy receptionist guarded the entrance hall, however checking in was no problem.

Sighing, with a mix of relief and fatigue, she stepped lightly into her room, frightening dust bunnies into corners on her way.  
The moment she entered the room, fatigue took control of her brain. A wave of sleep claimed her.

The following morning, she had awakened to the soft sound of the street, and a wrenching pain in her forehead.  
Amore sat up, and gingerly fingered her head where she had fallen.  
Wincing, she made her way to the bathroom to examine the damage a hard floor, and a wave of sleep had inflicted upon her.

Finding a telephone booth was not an issue, it was digging up enough money to pay for a call that nearly drove her mad. Coat pockets only yeilded a bus token from New York. (long expired.) The few francs she had brought with her were spent on bread, and wine.  
Money came from an unlikely place. Coincidentally, the cost for a long distance call was already covered by the man before.  
Red-faced, raving, and blustering about the econamy, he had given up on the phone booth, as the coin was stuck in the slot.

Using her remaining strength, she managed to wedge to coin into the slot enough to make a call home.  
Three rings.  
No answer.  
wait... rasped breathing filled her ears.  
"H-h-hello"  
Gasped Amore, on the other end...nothing.  
HELLO?  
the reciever began to shake in her hands.  
she realized that the breathing was her own.  
dial tone.  
weeping, Amore dropped the reciever, and limped into the crowded streets of Paris.

Weeks later, she had aquired and lost a total of thirty jobs.  
One as a waitress at a bar, another at a publishing company, and so on.  
A total of 20 calls ad been made to America. None had been answered.  
Over 132 times, she had stood by the telephone booth. Daring herself to pick up the reciever.

now. i will pause the story, and tell you this. she has been using the same phone over and over again to attempt to make a call.  
while working at the bar, she met a charming man. He had offered her a seat, and a drink. The manager saw this, and fired her immediately.

Amore continued to see him. She knew his his name was Jack. She knew his favorite drinks, and songs, and sports, and romantic places, but she had yet to learn his occupation.  
At the time, many people had begun to dissapear into the night. Never to be seen again, until their bodies were found in gutters. All of which were mutilated beyond recognition.

Jack forbade her to go out after sunset. A simple request. Amore thought.  
The whole tradegdy began with a small, mangey, furry animal, that just happened to give the receptionist a rash, and a terrible cold.  
Sighing, Amore trudged home though an alley. A clean, common shortcut that became her main transportation throught the entire city.  
It amazing the way alleys work.  
They branch off into section, then join again.  
Easy to get lost, but with the right map...

A mewing sound.  
Amore whirreled around. anticipating some sort of attack.  
A small grey kitten lay behind her.  
A pathetic ball of fur.  
It's lets trembled.  
The pathetic ball of fur collapsed at Amore's feet.  
She continued home just the same, only at a rapid pace. Moving as if the bundle in her arms was worth more than her weight in gold.

Seing the condition of the idiot kitten, the receptionist nodded, despite the reddening of her nose and arms.  
Amore sprinted up the stairs, lay the kitten on the bed, while gasping for air, while looking for some sort of gause, while probing for garlic, while searching for her dinner, while scouting for a suitable dinner for a cat.

Finally, she tripped, and fell, once again, face-first onto the floor.  
The kitten mewed it's laughter.

"What they bloody hell are you laughing at?" murmured Amore.  
(this had become her favorite expression)  
The kitten stopped, and looked somber.

"All right, all right, im sorry, but you cant do much when your in that kind for shape. AND STOP BLEEDING ALL OVER MY BED!!!"

She had gotten to her feet and arranged a pile of rags. A temporary bed for a temporary guest she thought.  
She climbed into bed, and whispered a good night to her friend.

That morning, she brought the kitten to Jack. "Maybe he'll know what to do" she sat, wondering at the bus station.  
They met at the bar.

"Oh, he only had a minor scartch, all it is is that it became infected, so we should get him some antibiotics. The best choice is to take him to the vet to get him checked out and over"  
STORY PAUSE!  
notice how much he knows about cuts and stuff.

Jack offered to drive her, but Amore refused. she had been in his care once before. It smelled like someone died in there!

STORY PAUSE!  
aha!

As soon as she set foot outside, she was greeted with a bolt of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder. Followed by a drenching rain, that only magic could abate.

Jack chuckled to himself. I guess you really DO need a lift then?

Hesitantly, Amore agreed. The ride was the same as before. No smell though. What a relief, thought Amore.

Around the corner from the Vet, Jack pulled off into an alley.

"What-----" "Shhhhhhhhhhhhh" Jack interrupted. Something cold was pressed against her throat.  
Sharp.  
It hurt.  
black.  
A whisper: My name is Jack, my last name is Ripp known as Jack the Ripper. A am the serial killer they seek.  
You are my victim.

NOW YOU KNOW WHAT I DO FOR A LIVING.  
uh, this is a story based on a song. i only wrote it to horrify the readers.  
Sometimes, happy endings make me a little, mad, becuase the author cant find a better alternative


End file.
